“So what are you saying, Vel? Do you want me to forsake my belief in Uni so I can worship him? The goddess stands for all that Fufluns isn’t. I revere her as the protectress of married women. She has sheltered me through the birth of each of our children. She saved Veii, and you, in the Battle of Blood and Hail.”
“Of course not,” he said, his impatience evident. “But don’t you understand? There is good and evil in all of us, even the gods. They have loves and wants and hatreds as intense as any mortal. And you know there is violence within me just as there is love for you and our children. Even Uni has her darker side. She can be vengeful and hostile.”
He tried to draw her closer, but she placed one hand against his cuirass. “Why, Vel? Why your fervor for this god?”
He grasped her shoulders. “Because I’ve been thinking more of death. Not just mine, but yours. And our children’s. I want the comfort of knowing we’ll meet again in the Beyond. I want you to believe in my afterlife, not in the cheerless existence of your Roman dead.”
Stunned by his desperate tone, Caecilia slipped from the kline, a flush of heat spreading through her. Mastarna had never asked her to forsake her religion, the last and only link to her birthplace. A Roman death required no reckoning or retribution. She would merge with the mass of ancestral spirits, no longer an individual, but one with many: freed from emotions, devoid of bliss or woe, love or hatred. “At least there are no perils awaiting me when I become a Shade.”
He shook her. “But our children and I will need to appease you once you join such a host. There is a reason why the Roman dead are called the Good Ones. It’s a name to placate them from rising to torment the living.”
Caecilia steadied herself. She felt as though she were treading a pathway to a past where there had only been differences between them. He was asking her to make a choice she thought he’d never demand. “Have I held you back from your worship all these years?”
“No. I promised to respect your beliefs. I also lacked piety myself, but now . . .”
“But now you seek to conquer Rome.”
“Yes, the stakes are higher. Either Veii succeeds or it is destroyed.” He lowered his voice. “We are destroyed.”
She was truly frightened now. Mastarna seldom admitted he was afraid. His bravado was reassuring even if she teased him for being vain. The fact that he always survived, always returned, kept her hope alive. “You’ve taunted Nortia so many times, Vel. I didn’t think you feared death.”
He rubbed his brow with his fist, the gesture sharp. “Of course I feel my stomach tighten every time I lower my helmet and raise my shield. And pray for courage like every other man. But this is different.” He hugged her. “Don’t you understand? I never know if I’ll return to find you or our children taken by plague—or that Rome has breached our wall. Not only do I fear losing you while I’m alive but also after I’m slain. To believe we will meet again in the Beyond is a consolation, even if our bodies may never lie together in a grave.”
She rested her head against his chest, the bronze of his corselet denying her the warmth of his body. “I don’t know what to do.”
He kissed her hair. “Bellatrix, I can’t force you to follow Fufluns, but please consider giving libation to him and kneeling before his shrine while I’m away. Remember there were many things here that repelled you that you now enjoy. Perhaps you can accept this, too. And then,” he whispered, “at the next festival after I return, we might seek communion together under the stars.”
Caecilia froze. She did not want to meet his eyes, to let him see her doubt that she could ever surrender to his faith. For even if for divine purpose, how could she watch him climax with others at Fufluns’s feasts? How could she welcome lying with another man behind a mask?
Outside, the timekeeper called the hour, startling them. The inevitable melancholy of farewell stole over her. She picked up the Atlenta pendant from the divan and showed it to him. “I’ll wear this to protect me while you’re gone. Atlenta has long kept me safe. And, remember, we will be lions after we die.”
Mastarna hesitated, his request hanging between them, then he smiled and kissed her a sad, deep, sweet good-bye. “Yes, Bellatrix, we will dwell in paradise together.”
TWENTY-NINE
Semni, Veii, Spring, 396 BC
The massive pithoi jars stood in the shadows of the storeroom like a phalanx of headless soldiers, shoulder to shoulder. If they had not been half sunk into the floor, they would stand as high as a man.
Semni held Nerie’s hand as she entered the cellar, Perca following on her heels.
“Ssh,” she whispered, placing her finger to her lips. “Be very quiet so we can hear if the princes are in here.” The one-and-a-half-year-old giggled, unable to suppress his excitement at being included in the game with the three older boys.
Spring had arrived, but its warmth had yet to infiltrate the deep interior of the palace. The air smelled of dry earth, although a faint smell of barley pervaded it. Coated with dust, most of the pots were empty, their contents gone to feed the palace household.
Lord Tarchon had ordered grain supplies to be further rationed. And Lady Caecilia had decreed the palace stores should be distributed equally among the families of both servants and courtiers. The principes expressed their discontent at such largesse, but the queen dismissed their griping, determined to show her fairness.
Semni knew she was lucky to eat one meal per day when those in the city struggled. Denied a healthy diet, though, she was aware her milk was drying up. Only two weeks ago, she’d had her first flux since Nerie was born.
Tired of the princes complaining their tummies ached, Semni thought a game would distract them. The cool confines of the network of cellars were a perfect setting for hide-and-seek. She signaled Perca to search the far end of the chamber. Whistling, the girl crept between the pithoi, trying to flush out a prince. Semni followed suit, peering around the contoured sides of the earthenware containers decorated with wavy lines and spirals. Nerie dogged her steps.
A stifled noise caught her attention as she reached a wooden bench where a pile of large terra-cotta buckets was stacked. It was then she spied a round wooden lid propped against the side of one of the pithoi. As she drew closer, she heard the sound of a whimpering child.
“Quick, Perca, come and help.”
Semni gripped one of the container’s clay handles and leaned over to peer inside. Down in the gloomy interior, Larce stared up at her, eyes brimming with tears. Arnth stood beside him, grinning.
“How did you two get in there?”
“Tas helped us, but now we’re stuck,” wailed Larce.
Semni rolled her eyes and leaned over the edge as far as she could, extending her hands to them. They were too far belowground to reach. Larce started blubbering.
“Calm down,” she urged. “I’ll try something different.” Scanning the room, she noticed a ladder. “Help me with that, Perca.”